


Reflections of Christmas

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Holiday: xmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's reflections on Christmas -- before and after Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is for shanny and Sue in payment of all the letters they wrote for our guys. Hope you like it! Thanks to Naomi for the auction! 
> 
> Thanks also go to all at Sencrits for the wonderful feedback on this. Please forgive me for snatching your ideas and running with them. :-) 
> 
> Hey Owlet! See, I wrote one all by myself!  Love ya! 

## Reflections of Christmas

by McVey

Author's disclaimer: The guys aren't mine, never have been, never will be. I'm not making any money off of this, so there! I just wanna play with them.

* * *

Christmas 1963 

The basement apartment was tiny, not quite big enough for one person, much less two adults and a baby. There was a bedroom, a bathroom, and an open area with a Pullman kitchen/ dining/living area. The only good thing one could say about the place was that it was cheap. Cheap enough for a struggling young married couple just starting out. 

Their furniture was hand me downs and junk yard castoffs. The coffee table was scarred with white rings and deep scratches and the couch pinched you in awkward places if you sat down in the wrong spot. Lighting came from an old lamp whose base was chipped and cracked. They ate off of a card table that had a match book stuck under one of the legs. 

Their bed, well, lumps and all, it was _their_ bed. Where the nights were not so dark, the worries were pushed away, and love and laughter filled the room. 

And William Ellison had never been happier in his life. 

Sure, it was hard. When Grace had come to him and shakingly told him she was pregnant, he had thought his world had ended. He was a high school senior, had been accepted to Yale, and after one night, just one night, that dream was over. 

But William Ellison had straightened his shoulders, turned down Yale, enrolled in the local state college, found a part time job and married the woman who he loved more than anything. 

And now, he had a son. James Joseph William Ellison. Born in the grips of Cascade's worst February in history, William had been afraid James would make his appearance before he could get his wife to the charity hospital. His son. 

His son, who was now ten months old and having his first Christmas. 

* * *

William stomped the snow from his boots and cautiously opened the door to their apartment. Grace had transformed the dingy dark space into a home. Even though there was never enough money, she somehow made it warm and welcoming. A quilt tossed over the back of the couch, several inexpensive throw pillows dotting the floor creating additional cuddling areas, soft music from the radio all came together as home. The comforting smells of dinner, stew and fresh hot bread wafted to him as he shrugged off his coat. 

"Da, Da, Da" chortled James as he crawled toward his dad. William picked him up and nuzzled in the sweet neck. Blue eyes, so much like his mother's were alight with joy. 

"Where's momma? hmmm?" 

James leaned back in his father's arms and looked in the kitchen. 

Grace grinned at her husband. "That little scamp has been calling for you the last ten minutes! I would swear he could hear you coming from the bus stop!" 

William shifted James to his hip and with his free arm, he encircled Grace and drew her close to him. 

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." 

Grace completed the circle, bringing her arm around James and laying her head on William's chest. They stood there quietly, soaking in the love. 

"I'm sorry there's no presents this year, honey." William whispered. 

"Just having you and James is enough for me. Don't worry about it." 

{Someday,} William vowed {someday, I will deck you in diamonds and pearls, and have a house worthy of you. A house with columns, and more rooms than we would ever use. Someday.} 

* * *

Christmas 1968 

"Will you please shut that kid up!" William yelled. "How in the hell am I to get any work done with that brat screaming all the time?" 

William crumpled and tossed another attempt at the proposal he just knew would get the attention of his boss into the wastebasket. After graduating from college, he took the first job that was offered to him, anxious to make more money and get out of the poverty life they had led. 

What he hadn't expected was another son. Another mouth to feed and clothe. Another chain to tie him down. Damn, he was tired. 

He hated his job. He knew more about the business than his boss did. He would make suggestions and his boss would let him know in no uncertain terms that William was there to work, not to tell the _owner_ of the company how to do things better. If William thought he could do better, then he was welcomed to go out and find the money to get started. 

And by God, that is just what he would do. Go out and get the money and start his own business. Anything to get out of the house and away from the screaming kids and the wife who looked at him reproachfully every time he came home late from the office. 

She didn't understand how hard he had to work to provide for them. How important it was for him to work harder, work smarter, work longer hours than anybody else in the office. She didn't understand he was doing it all for them. She just didn't understand. 

William grabbed his coat and hat and stormed out of the house, slamming the door. He never noticed the small boy huddled in the hallway, hands over his ears, tears streaming from sorrowful blue eyes. 

* * *

Christmas 1972 

Trembling hands folded the last sweater and placed it into the open suitcase on the bed. Glancing around, noting the empty side of the closet, *her side*, the empty open drawers of the dresser, _her drawers_ , and the rest of the suitcases, _her suitcases_ standing by the door, she sighed and snapped the last suitcase closed. 

"That's everything." she said to the intractable man standing in the doorway, watching her. 

"Fine" Clipped tones instructed the men standing uncomfortably in the hallway to gather the bags and take them to the taxi waiting outside. 

"William, please" Grace placed her hand on her husband's, no ex-husband's, arm. He stiffened and jerked his arm away as if her touch had burned through his suit. 

"Can't I stay for Christmas? Please, for the boys?" she pleaded. 

"No." 

"Please, don't punish the boys just because you can't stand me." 

Those cold eyes, {God, when did they become so empty? she wondered} glowered at her. 

"No." 

He didn't understand. He still didn't understand all she had wanted, all that she had ever wanted, was them, together like they used to be. Before William started his own business, before he became successful, before the money. 

Head bowed, internally damning her husband's friends, the judges and the lawyers that had made it easy, oh, so easy for William to obtain custody, she slowly made her way down the hall to her oldest son's room. 

She opened the door and went to the two small figures huddled together on the bed. Jimmy held Stephen close, patting him awkwardly, trying to stop his tears, not realizing his own eyes were also wet. 

Kneeling before them, she tenderly gathered her children into her arms. "I have to go, now, boys. Be good and know always that I love you," she softly whispered. Grace held them tightly {Oh, God, how can I leave?}, kissed them gently on the forehead, then rose and walked out of their lives. 

* * *

Christmas 1980 

"You did WHAT?" 

Jim flinched at his father's yelling. "I told you. I signed up to join the Army. I report to basic training after I turn eighteen." 

"You joined the Army. You are throwing away a chance for Yale, for _Yale_ to join the Army? Just how fucking stupid are you?" William looked at his seventeen year old son who could make him angry enough to raise his voice. 

"Not stupid enough to stay here anymore." The words were out of Jim's mouth before he could stop them. Taking a deep breath, he tried to reason with his father. "I've taken college classes since I was a junior. I graduate at semester. I'll finish college in the Army. This is what I want to do." 

"What about the plans I've made for you? You will be taking over the business when I retire. You can't do that without a college education. I called in favors to get you into Yale. To give you the chance that I didn't have." The pain and bitterness of the past evident now. 

"That's just it. They are _your_ plans, not mine. I don't want anything to do with you or your business. I don't want to take over the business. I don't want to turn into another William Ellison, Lord and Master of the Boardroom. Can't you understand that?" 

William looked at the young man before him. James stood proudly, not bending to his father's will, straight and strong in his conviction in his right to live his life as _he_ saw fit, not to live as an extension of his father. 

"I understand that I've backed the wrong son to take over my business," he said slowly watching as the light dimmed in the soft blue eyes so like his mothers. "As of this day, I only have _one_ son. Only Stephen lives here now." 

"Fine." Jim turned and went into the hallway where his suitcases were waiting. He grabbed them and proceeded down the hall intent on leaving before any more hurtful words were spoken. 

He paused at the front door. "Dad, I love you. Please, don't do this." 

William Ellison's response was to open the door. 

As the door closed behind him, for the last time, Jim brushed away tears. 

* * *

Christmas 1987 

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good feeelllloooow that nobody can deny!" 

The loud and boisterous singing of his fellow squad members more than made up for their lack of ability. Jim grinned as yet another bottle of beer was passed to him. 

He raised it in appreciation of the impromptu party the guys had thrown together to celebrate his new Captain's bars. 

"Speech, speech!" they began to chant. Jim looked over the seven men who made the squad. He could count most of them as good friends, but he could _count_ on all of them to watch his back on the missions that didn't make the history books. He stood on his chair and waved his beer bottle around to get their attention. 

"Gentlemen!" 

"Sorry, there ain't no gentlemen here!" Laughter filled the bar. 

"Ok, you over paid SOB's, listen up!" 

Something in his tone alerted his men, even in their drunken haze, their new captain was getting serious. 

"Men, we've trained hard for the missions Uncle Sam sends us on. And we know there is always a chance we won't make it back. And if someday, I don't...well, I just wanted..." Jim stopped and caught the eye of each man, saw the understanding of what he was trying to say. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued, "If I don't make it back, the first rounds on me! And I expect you bastards to drink better than you fuck!" 

Laughter and jeers rang out as his men wanted to give demonstrations on how well they did both. 

Climbing down from his chair, thinking about the jungle training they had done recently, Jim wondered why he was suddenly cold. 

* * *

Christmas 1992 

The loft was decorated perfectly. The perfect tree with the perfect amount of ornaments and lights. The tinsel was hung perfectly, no globs here and there to give it character, just a shiny show of perfection. There were packages wrapped oh-so-prettily under the tree. Gifts were encased with festive paper and big bows to provide the picture perfect Christmas card atmosphere. 

There was just the perfect amount of greenery and red bows scattered throughout the large living area. Candles provided perfect lighting to show off the perfect angels looking down at the manger. 

And Jim Ellison was miserable in his perfect world. 

"It's not working." More statement than question. 

"No, Caro. It's not." Jim looked at the woman who had once made his world perfect. She had tried, he admitted to himself. She understood his need to be a cop. She understood the hours and the stress and the bad moods and all of the other bullshit a cop's wife had to put up. She understood everything except Jim's need not to share everything with her. His inability to be the kind of husband she needed him to be. Carolyn had given it her best shot and it wasn't her fault her best wasn't good enough. 

"I'll go, then." She put on her coat and as she turned the doorknob she whispered "I really did love you." And then she left. 

Jim closed the door and slid down to the floor. "I loved you, too," he whispered through the tears coursing down his face. 

* * *

Christmas 1994 

"Cold, cold, too cold, cold, cold, cold." Blair chattered, rubbing his hands briskly in the elevator on the way up to Major Crimes with Jim. 

Jim looked at the grad student with affection. He knew for a fact the kid had on two pairs of heavy socks and three tee shirts under his flannel shirt because Blair had "borrowed" them from him. Just _how_ his Guide had gotten close enough for the cop to feel comfortable enough to loan him his clothes, Jim didn't know. But _when_ had been easy to figure out. Lash. Jim shivered as the all too fresh memories of the warehouse and his partner, his Guide, bound in chains to the dentist chair overwhelmed him. He reached out to touch Blair, grounding himself as always on the feel, the smell, the sound of the one person who saved his sanity and his life. 

As the elevators doors opened, Blair led the way to the office jabbering about the latest excuses his students had provided for not turning in their semester projects on time. His graceful hands illustrated the absurdness of some of the more creative ones. "Can you believe it, Jim, one student actually _expected_ me to believe...whoa!" Blair stopped suddenly at the doorway, eyes widening at the transformation of the normally sterile office atmosphere. 

Rhonda had obviously been very busy decorating. There was a tree in the corner complete with ornaments and lights and a star twinkling on top. Santa figurines were perched everywhere on desktops and filing cabinets; some had sleighs, some were coming out of chimneys, and some were posed with bags of toys slung over their shoulders. Artificial snow graced Simon's windows and there were Christmas classics playing softly from the boom box on Rafe's desk. Each desk had a red stocking with the detective's name glittered in gold on it. 

"This is so cool, man! I didn't think big tough cops like you guys went in for the whole Santa experience!" Blair's eyes danced as took in the Santa on Jim's desk. 

"Yeah, right, Chief. Bah humbug." After hanging their coats up Jim eyed the porcelain statue with distaste as he sat down and started working the files stacked haphazardly in his basket. "Not all of us are taken in by the insincerity of peace on earth and goodwill toward men bullshit." 

Blair ducked his head, long curls obscuring his face. "We've never talked about Christmas, Jim. What are you doing this year?" 

"Same thing as every year, Sandburg. I work Christmas Eve and Christmas Day so some poor sucker who thinks he enjoys whiney kids that aren't satisfied, out of town relatives that you only see once a year, and all the other crap of Christmas can have the day off." 

"Oh." 

The hurt in that one word made Jim snap around and look at his partner. "What, you were expecting something else?" 

Blair fidgeted for a moment, then grabbing his jacket off the stand and his backpack he made his excuses "Um, Jim, I forgot I've got some things to do today at the University. You know, anthropology waits for no man or beast." 

Jim watched his Guide leave black marks on the floor in his haste to get out. He sighed. {Why do I feel like I've just kicked Rudolph?} 

* * *

Christmas 1995 

"Shit, Sandburg. Some socks and tee shirts aren't worth getting all that excited about." Jim watched as his Guide examined each package carefully before gleefully ripping the paper. 

"Shut up, Jim, and let me enjoy this, 'k?" 

"Uh, yeah." Honestly, Jim didn't know what had possessed him to even shop for Blair's presents, much less wrap them. He just knew if the younger man was happy, then he was happy. And for the first time in his life, Jim wanted to be happy. 

"Here, man, I was um, going to... " Blair hastily shoved a package into Jim's hands and went to his room with his presents. 

Jim tracked the other man's vitals absently while turning the gaily wrapped present over and over. {Bet it's wrapped with recycled paper.} He carefully slid his finger under the tape and gasped as the paper fell away. 

In his hands, framed and written with Blair's elegant scrawl on parchment was Kipling's Thousandth Man. He read the words describing the ideal friendship, _their_ friendship, Jim realized suddenly, fingertips tracing the patterns of ink and paper. 

One man in a thousand, Solomon says, Will stick more close than a brother. And it's worth while seeking him half your days If you find him before the other. 

Jim Ellison, formerly an isolated man, slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom and placed the gift of friendship reverently on his nightstand. 

* * *

Christmas 1996 

"Please, Jim. I really need you, man. I wouldn't ask but there's no one else that can help me with the party and the kids, Jim, think of the kids." Blair turned on the full force of his patented begging puppy dog face as he pleaded for the older man's cooperation. 

"Damnit, Sandburg, spending the afternoon with a bunch of hyperactive six year olds on a sugar rush singing Jingles Bells is _not_ my idea of having a good time on the first weekday I've had off in months." Even as the words came out, Blair knew the moment Jim capitulated. {Damn, who would have thought the begging face that worked so well on Naomi would also work on stubborn Sentinels?} 

"Great, man! Here, the first thing we need to do is fill up these sacks with the goodies." Blair bounded over to the coffee table where apples, oranges, bananas, colors, coloring books and sandwich bags of candy were laid out in separate piles. "Each bag gets one of each item and then fold the top down and put one of these stickers on it." 

"I think I can handle that." Jim said dryly turning on the tree lights as he sat on the couch and snapped open the first bag. "Care to explain to me again just how you became a homeroom mother? Thought that was only for mothers. Something you're not telling me, sport?" 

Blair snorted as he hurried into the kitchen, grabbing pot holders as he slid on stocking feet to the oven. He knew the Sentinel knew how in a weak moment one of Blair's fellow grad students who was rotating in the inner city schools as a student teacher had talked him into providing the support usually given by the mothers of her young students. 

Shannon only had to paint a picture of the disadvantaged kids whose mothers, well, some of their mothers, didn't care nor saw the importance of their involvement in their children's education. And the mothers who did care often couldn't be at the school because they were trying to put food on the table. Blair had agreed to find room in his already over extended schedule to read to the kids and to provide the goodies for the few parties the kids were allowed to have. 

{You're not as much as a Scrooge as you would have everybody to believe, are you, Jim?} Blair thought later that afternoon as he watched the stiff necked cop thaw under the onslaught of the first grader's wonder and enthusiastic "Thank You's at the goodies in their bags. 

Surprisingly, it was _Jim_ the children wanted to read the age old Christmas story to them after the games and cookies and punch. As the older man settled in the reading corner with a couple of kids in his lap and the rest surrounding him, he made sure all of the children could see the pictures as he read the story. They giggled and laughed as Jim changed his voice for the different characters. 

{Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night} Blair silently mouthed the words along with his partner as the last story ended. He watched as each child hugged the Sentinel, as each hug and whispered Thank You tore down another brick in the wall surrounding the cop's heart. Blair caught Jim's eye as he hugged the children back and pretended not to notice the wetness. 

* * *

Christmas Day 1997 

Gifts had been exchanged, the pot luck dinner consumed as if it had been a last meal, foot balls games galore had been cheered and jeered though out the afternoon and early evening. Jim closed the door on Simon and Daryl, the last of their guests to leave. 

He joined Blair in the kitchen, the two of them working together in companionable silence, their efforts to wrap and put up leftovers as graceful and coordinated as any ballet. 

Wiping the last crumb from the counter top, Jim tossed the dishcloth into the sink. 

"Hey, man, go take a load off. I'll make us some hot chocolate and we'll just veg for a while, 'k?" 

Jim lowered the lights in the living area then went to the stereo and selecting the instrumental Christmas CD turned the volume low. He added a log to the fire and then sank down on the couch. 

Tracking the younger man's movements in the kitchen, hearing him humming along with the CD, smelling the Kahula and chocolate, watching the lights twinkling on the tree, Jim reflected on the changes of the Christmases of his life. 

{Christmas - never a good time for me. Then a long haired _Jewish_ anthropologist barged into my life. With a smile that warmed my soul and thawed out my heart, he brought the joy of the season to me.} 

He twisted to watch his partner add a flourish of whipped cream to their mugs while bouncing in time to the music. Jim flashed a quick grin at the sight of the younger man upending the can and giving himself a squirt of the white froth and received in return the patented Blair look number thirty-seven. The "I am just too cute for words, so don't even _try_ to rag me for breaking House Rule whatever" look. He was graced with _the_ smile as Blair handed him a mug and sat beside him. 

Taking a sip of his drink, the grad student sighed contentedly. "This has been a perfect day, Jim. Thank you." 

"I should be thanking you, Sandburg. That was quite a spread you did and there wasn't an unpronounceable dish to be seen." 

That got him a poke in the ribs. "Yeah, well, I know the guys had said they would bring a dish, but knowing Rafe and Henry, I kinda figured the dish would be a six pack." 

"Who would have guessed _Rafe_ could bake an apple pie like that?" 

"Not me, man. And that stuffed acorn squash from Henry? I may never eat again." 

"Did you see Simon's face when Megan cleaned out his wallet on the OU/Nebraska game? He thought she was a sucker bet." 

Chuckling tiredly, the two men lapsed into silence. 

{I love you, Blair. Loved you almost from that first day.} Jim wasn't surprised at the direction his thoughts had gone. It seemed sometimes it was all he could do was to _not_ shout "I love Blair" in the squad room. 

He rested his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes, losing himself in the fantasy of how good, how right it would be to tell his partner I love you. {I would take my hands and cup his face, use my thumbs to brush across his cheekbones. I would bring him closer, meeting him halfway, as it should be. I would moisten his lips with quick little licks of my tongue, tasting him for the first time. I would breathe I love you into his open mouth and he would absorb the words as he absorbs my soul with our first kiss.} 

The gentle tug of his cup taken from his hands, the soft vibration of it being placed on the coffee table brought the Sentinel back from the edge of a zone. He opened his eyes to find the beloved face so close, oh, god, so near, and he reached with trembling hands to give his fantasy life. 

"I love you, Blair" 

And his world exploded in a cascade of tastes and flavors as he licked and nibbled and nipped. The lips he teased open with gentle insistence and as the parted, his tongue sweeping the warm cavern finding chocolate there, the sweetness of whipped cream over here, and the coffee of the liqueur deeper in the recesses. He drank the whimpers, the moans emanating from man he was plundering as the starved man devours the feast. 

Jim pulled back, focusing on the windows to his mate's soul. Voice raspy with need he managed to ask for the sun and the stars with just one word. 

"Blair?" 

Dark blue eyes made almost navy with desire met his in answer. 

"I need to hear it, babe, need to hear _you_ say it." 

As always, his Guide knew the right words, the only words that mattered now. 

"I love you, James Ellison." 

(end) 


End file.
